Pistachios
by Neon Chipmunks
Summary: Tim Shepard loves his pistachios, but he also loves his girls. When he tries to pick a rather well spoken one up at Buck’s place, he finds himself having to play Goody TwoShoes for two months…can he make it?


Pistachios: An Odd Romance of the Shepardian Persuasion

---------

Last time I checked, _The Outsiders_ most certainly wasn't mine. Susie Hinton did a wonderful job writing it, though!

---------

Day the Negative First: Also Known to Some As a Prologue, But That's No Fun.

---------

Ah, pistachios. Best thing God gave to this Earth 'sides cute girls. Some days they're really, really bland, but man, I love 'em anyway. Kinda like that one Soc girl I tried to pick up that one day last week at Buck's, only she was bitter at first, not salty or a sweet kinda bland, know what I'm sayin'? Despite that, she had a real sweet face.

I'm guessin' that's what tempted me.

Man, I'm stuck in such a damn dilemma, though! Sheesh, stayin' off all my usual hobbies just ain't easy. And y'know, I'm doin' this for her, too; gotta play the part of the good boy. It's even startin' to piss Dally off a little (even though I told 'im straight up and with a grin, "You've got nothin' to do with this, greaser! I'm wooin' this lady, not you."). He was bitchin' me out a bit yesterday, sayin' shit like, "Tim Shepard, you're outta your mind, goin' for one of those goody-good Soc broads. I'll be laughin' if she dumps you when all this is said an' done! It'll be even funnier if she's already got a guy once these two months o' your 'good boy' front are over."

What started it all was when some Mozart, or Beethoven, or Bach symphony (I could never tell the difference between those squares 'sides their names, anyway), or whatever started playin' on the jukebox, blarin' throughout the bar. Everyone didn't like it, 'cept that one girl. She was the only one not drinkin', but she was talkin' and laughin' with a couple of other girls that, usually, I'd find a lot prettier and go play with them for a while. However, the way this chickie smiled…man, I don't think anythin' coulda been prettier. For Socs, a lack of emotion's a regular thing, but this seemed so…genuine, I guess. Don't have much of a way with words; that just ain't manly.

First thing I wondered ('sides what size the tag on the brassiere under her sweater said—they weren't big, but good enough) was why the hell she wasn't drinkin' like everyone else. I didn't ask, though. Slickin' my hair back all suave-like while Dally wasn't lookin', I headed over to the table that girl was at. The two other girls with 'er looked at me like I'd grown another head and flat-out left without a word. Guess I'm too good for them, huh?

First thing she said to me in that clear, smart-soundin' voice was, "You know, they say the song playing right now is an odd _number_ for the place," the glint in her eyes and the ghost of a smile on her face said she really digged this kinda music, "but you greasers and hoodlums are a bunch of odd_balls_."

The pleadin' look in her eyes was kinda a giveaway to the fact that she wished she wasn't so tame. Hell, I kinda pitied her. Bein' a West Side Soc would drive me nuts, even if they've got it better than we do; we greasers are real close, real tough, real _tuff_, and have good rumbles, while they've got a whole buncha money, tuff cars, madras shirts, and they can't fight fair for the life of 'em. Man, I'm glad I didn't see Johnny Cade after the Socs got 'im a few months back. I feel bad for the kid.

"Aww, what makes me so bad, baby?" As I said this, I slung an arm around her shoulders, pullin' her a bit too close for comfort (at least, with the way she was scowlin', you'd think I had Hell stored in my right armpit or somethin').

She scrunched up her nose and replied, "Well, your kind just isn't a tame group of people. If I met the few of your folk that were less inclined to skitter about and cause trouble for everyone, I'd have a different opinion; but I haven't gotten that lucky yet, have I?"

I sighed, loosening the grip my arm had 'round her. "Look, lady," I started, tryin' my best to seem kinda charming in an innocent sorta way (rather than devilishly handsome like usual—and I'm not sayin' this 'cause I have a swelled ego—I'm sayin' it 'cause I'm just that tuff), "I just wanna have some fun, y'know? I ain't some no-good hood!" I grinned proudly. Behind me, I coulda sworn I heard Dally mutter somethin' like, "Bullshit," but I didn't give damn. I was tryin' to impress a lady, here! Gotta have some charisma, ya know?

"Prove it, then," she replied with a smug sorta smile. "I won't let you steal, drink, smoke, fight, or partake in any other activity common amongst you greaser boys for…two months…starting tomorrow. I strongly advise taking advantage of whatever last-minute boozing and womanizing you want to get out of the way _now_."

I s'pose my jaw really dropped to the floor when I heard that, 'cause she started bustin' up laughin'. This made me real glad, though; it's a miracle that these Socs even come up to this place; it's on greaser turf, y'know.

After a couple hours of getting drunk and talkin' with this Soc girl (she still refused to even touch a drop of alcohol), I finally asked for her name. I'd actually kinda forgotten about it, considerin' the proposition she had for me—she was definitely one to play good boy for, though; somehow I was pretty damn sure of this.

"Ehh, you really want to know? It's kind of…um…embarrassing, really…" Suddenly, this girl was stutterin'! How bad could her name be?

I smiled a little more to reassure 'er a bit before sayin', "C'mon, baby, it's okay. Tim Shepard here," I pressed my right thumb 'gainst my chest to point out that this was me I was referrin' to in the third person, "shall swear on his honor as a greaser that he won't laugh. Alrighty?"

"Um…okay…" she started gettin' real red in the face. "It's…uh…it's…" she said her name in a hushed kinda voice, as if she didn't want nobody to hear, "Joseph. I usually just introduce myself as Jo, but…yeah…"

…Okay, I didn't exactly bust up laughin', but a girl named Joseph is just somethin' to crack up about. I mean, her folks musta been piss drunk or somethin' when they named 'er! I saw her look real disappointed when I began to crack up, so I stopped (with an effort—even today, I think it's damn funny) and sighed, if only to suppress whatever further laughs I may've had. "Sorry, Jo," I began, pressin' my right index finger 'gainst the tip of her nose, "but hey, I'll try and play Goody Gooderman for ya, alright?"

She grinned (and man, if I wasn't so tough, I woulda just swooned and fainted right then an' there) and said, "It's okay; I wasn't expecting you to keep a straight face anyway," she paused, lookin' like she was thinkin' real deep.

I guess I broke 'er out of her train of thought, 'cause she was a little jumpy when I finally started talkin' again. "So, why d'you want me to do this for you?"

Jo pushed some of that short brown hair outta her face and replied, "Well…I wanted to meet a greaser who might be able to show me that there's some good outside of us Socials. I mean, I guess we're okay," I cringed at that, "but that doesn't mean all of us are. To tell you the truth, I'm sick of all my friends. They're all the same. But, I don't want to hang out with someone who's nothing but a hoodlum, you see?"

"Yeah, I catch your drift," I grinned at her. "But still—why _me_? Why plain ol' Timothy Shepard of the East Side greasers?"

She blinked those muddy-brown eyes a couple times; I noticed the small gap between her two front teeth as she spoke. "Because you were the first one to randomly come up to me rather than one of my friends. Besides which, it's a challenge, right? Don't you greaser boys enjoy a having your wills put to the test?" Jo stood up, dustin' off the front of her skirt (but there wasn't a single speck of _anything_ on it—I don't get women…) before pushin' her chair in all prim and proper-like. Man, she was a lady to the end, I s'posed.

"Where you goin', baby?" I asked as she headed for the door to leave.

She turned back to me, beamin' all sweet-like, "I've got to go home, Tim. I hope you can make it through those two months!" As she opened the door, I piped up:

"What do I get for doin' this for ya?" Hey, I've gotta consider what I get for pullin' a stunt like this.

Jo was silent for a moment before replyin', "How does my eternal gratitude and undying love sound? Will that do, Mister Shepard?"

Hmm…this was where I started to look on the bright side of this deal. "That'll do jus' fine, sweet cheeks." I made sure to give her my best impression of a Sodapop Curtis movie-star smile. At this, she laughed one last time before headin' home, shutting the door carefully behind her.

…Shoot, I thought then—why didn't I ask her if I could just drive 'er home?


End file.
